


restless thoughts of being forgotten

by grungerofgotham



Series: Loathing for a Change [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (again?), 90s AU, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Boys In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hard of Hearing Gerry, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Multi, Radio Host Gerry, Trans Character, Trans Michael Shelley, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/grungerofgotham
Summary: Dealing with the loss and subsequent rebirth of your monster boyfriend is definitely as complicated as it sounds.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: Loathing for a Change [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718872
Comments: 34
Kudos: 136





	restless thoughts of being forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct continuation of the previous part in this series, but you don't need to have read it to understand this one.  
> Title is from Here Is No Why by the Smashing Pumpkins, series title from Swallowed by Bush.  
> featuring: gays can't drive
> 
> there is mention of suicidal thoughts in this, though it's not very extreme. if you aren't in a place where you can deal with that, maybe read this another time :)
> 
> Enjoy ;0

Michael is splintering apart. It isn’t quite as painful as the agony that was becoming Michael, but make no mistake, the grinding of its parts unwinding, unravelling, spitting out what it can’t be, consciousness waging war against itself; it’s indescribably terrible. But it’s also the most exquisite relief. It’s flayed apart. Digging around inside pulls out the edges and curves that were never supposed to be reconciled with the irreconcilable. Put back together, meat from spiral, madness from Man, Michael is no longer Michael. Michael is gone, it’s shifted away from its own grating existence and now it’s back. _He’s_ alive. Michael Shelley is human. And very, very cold.

He stands shakily in a damp field, grass real and firm beneath his feet. It’s dark and the night shines bright with a multitude of stars, winking in and out of sight as trees bend angrily across them, wind whipping leaves and stinging droplets into Michael’s bare skin. It’s night and there’s no moon, but he can still see. There’s a truck, sitting idly behind a low fence, headlights spilling white light across the grass, making Michael feel more naked than he already is.

Michael shivers and paws at his tattered clothes; less than half a ragged shirt and a pair of thin and battered swim trunks between him and the open air. He moves toward the truck, and his legs wobble on the slippery ground. Another step sends him sprawling onto the grass and he carefully levers himself onto his elbows, ignoring the scraped skin of his knees.

Briefly he wonders: why is he here? The question seems too small. It feels like there’s more, just beyond that query, waiting to be tapped. So then he wonders: why is he? In a flash he knows. He knows the almost-not-quite-reality of unmaking the stability of people’s minds. He understands the pain of being what he was never supposed to be, in more ways than is fair. He knows what it’s like to see into impossibility and _be_ it. He knows the humming of infinite power beneath his terribly sharp shape and he knows how he’d been willing to give it up for a being of utter inconsequence.

Then he doesn’t. There is no more remembering, no more knowing. The pressure of understanding the incomprehensible, crammed into a mind not built for that. It breaks, and Michael can’t see anything beyond the dull throb of his brain except for a bridge and a room. The bridge is long and winding. There should be water under the bridge, but there isn’t, it’s a sea of concrete. Michael walked that bridge, looking for the edge, the way out, but only found it turn into a long sloping corridor. His face was wet with tears and crusted with salt and he broke mirrors and walked and walked and became and the memory turns to static.

The room he remembers is small, cramped. A man, sitting at a desk, dials and sliders twisting under his fingers. A shiver down his spine when he tries to hide a smile behind a dark curtain of poorly dyed hair.

Michael gets up and gives himself a moment to make sure his knees won’t buckle before trying once more to stumble toward the truck. He can’t feel his feet, or even the lower half of his legs, and when he finally makes it to the truck and clambers inside the open door, he doesn’t feel the sharp edge slicing into his ankle. He shuts the door behind him and heaves a sigh of relief.

There’s no one inside. The keys are in the ignition and the car is completely abandoned, save for a large brown coat draped over the passenger seat. Michael tugs his drenched shirt off and pulls the thick coat around him. He looks out into the field he had woken up in and sees nothing amiss. He has no idea how he got there. Is this his car? Did he get really drunk, pass out, and hit his head? Michael doesn’t think so. He thinks something happened on that bridge and that’s how he got here.

Michael turns the key in the ignition and the car grumbles to life. Michael fiddles with the knobs in the car until heat starts blasting, stale and foul-smelling from the engine. He puts his hand on the gear shift and knows what do with it, but he doesn’t remember why.

He drives for hours. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he does. He just doesn’t know how he’s getting himself there and is starting to lose hope that he won’t find it when he feels himself pulling to a stop outside a small, red brick building. There are no lights shining through the window, but Michael knows this is what he’s remembering. He gets out of the car and limps to the door. It’s unlocked.

Inside is a hallway, dark but for a single square of light at the end, silent save for a buzzing melody from behind the door. A sign beams red above it: ON AIR.

*

Gerry isn’t worried. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he whittles the hour away at the radio station. Michael had disappeared last night. It’s not a huge deal, Gerry thinks, because Michael is weird. It comes and goes as it pleases. Its leaving isn’t the thing that Gerry definitely isn’t worried about, anyway. What ‘doesn’t’ worry him is how Michael was acting before it left. Michael isn’t generally so introspective. It doesn’t care whether or not people find it scary or confusing because it knows that it is. Michael questioning that had been uncharacteristic and vaguely frightening. But Gerry _isn’t_ worried.

Gerry tries to re-focus on the work at hand, but the thought of something being wrong with Michael keeps nagging at him. He glances beside him at the extra chair that he keeps around for Michael. It isn’t uncommon for him to look beside himself and it’s just there. That isn’t the case tonight. The room feels empty without it.

Is the anxiety over this even worth it? Gerry still doesn’t know all that much about Michael. Sure, he feels like he knows it, the way it feels against it and the reluctant worry in its eyes when Gerry doesn’t get enough sleep. But he doesn’t know where it came from, what it does when it isn’t with Gerry. He doesn’t know if Michael is even good. It’s good to Gerry. But is it _good_? Gerry doesn’t know, and he doesn’t like to think about it. He doesn’t like to consider the fact that he may be dating something evil.

He has considered it though. The shaky conclusion that he came to was that Michael couldn’t be evil. It had been human once. That first night at the bar it had looked so upset when Gerry asked how it had become a monster. If becoming a monster was so upsetting, surely there’s a part of it that never wanted to hurt anyone? Gerry shakes his head free of these thoughts; he needs to pay attention or he’ll miss the end of the song.

Gerry packs up without much fanfare, vaguely disgruntled about not having anything to occupy his thoughts. He’s just turning the speakers off when the door to the studio bursts open, banging hard against the wall as a figure trips into the room, catching themselves on the doorframe. Gerry looks up in surprise.

The person is tall and lanky, blond hair dark and stringy with water, hanging in their eyes as they tremble against the wall. The expression on their face is one of abject terror, and they’re drowning in a coat that’s far too big for them despite how tall they are, legs bare beneath it. Gerry realises with a start that it’s Michael. Michael like Gerry’s never seen. It looks- he looks _human_. He looks terrible.

Gerry hurries forward, hesitating before taking Michael by the elbows. The man looks at him, and Gerry knows this isn’t Michael. This is who became Michael. The ‘not anymore’ that it had once mentioned. It is gone. Gerry immediately puts the stab of despair lancing through his chest aside, because in front of him is a person who needs his help. 

“Michael?” he tries, searching his eyes for any type of response.

The man blinks at him, like he can’t quite clear his vision, or he’s not sure what he’s looking at. “I don’t know. Who are you?”

Something inside Gerry cracks a little bit when he hears that from Michael’s voice, stripped of its perpetual squealing distortion. “I’m Gerry. Don’t you remember me?”

“I’m not sure, I…” Michael says, running his reddened eyes over Gerry and clutching harder at the doorframe. He shakes his head and shuts his eyes, turning away from Gerry.

“Hey, woah, it’s alright,” Gerry says gently, bringing a hand up to turn Michael back to him. His skin is slick and cold and so human. Gerry doesn’t feel like he’s holding a live wire when he touches him. He doesn’t think about how he misses the feeling. “Do you remember anything?”

“I-,” Michael starts to answer, wincing as he does and shifting his weight onto the other leg.

Gerry looks down to see a long gash cutting down across the bottom of Michael’s leg, blood curling across the damp of his skin and soaking into the floor below. “Fuck, Michael, you’re bleeding. We should probably go to a hospital or- or something?”

Michael glances at his leg with a frown, “I don’t… fuck. I just want to go home, I don’t even know if I have one,” he mumbles airily. Gerry becomes aware that Michael is shaking incessantly. He needs to get him somewhere warm.

“Okay, um, okay, fuck. I’ll take you home, we’ll fix that leg up,” Gerry says, taking hold of one of Michael’s arms and slinging it over his shoulder. Michael immediately leans his weight on Gerry, and he stumbles slightly. Human Michael is still really fucking heavy, Gerry supposes. He waits for a moment, expecting that impossible door to open, then realises again that the Michael he knew is gone. “Okay, right, no doors. The bus will take a while, let’s just call an ambulance, that’s ea-.”

“Found a truck,” Michael says absently, gesturing sluggishly toward the front of the building. Gerry curses himself at taking so long to get to action. He doesn’t think Michael’s on the verge of death or anything, but he’s starting to look faint.

“You _fou-_? You know what, that’s a discussion for later, we gotta get you fixed up,” Gerry says, moving Michael outside. He pauses for a moment when he sees the pick-up waiting for them; this thing better not be manual. He gets Michael into the passenger seat without too much trouble and tugs the injured leg up to rest on the dashboard. He gets into the driver’s seat and orders Michael to put pressure on the bleeding while he gets the heat going in the car.

Gerry looks down to see a gear shift. God in heaven he’s going to kill the both of them. Desperate times, he thinks. He turns the key over, and the truck starts. He puts the thing in first gear and tries to move, immediately stalling the car. He turns the key again and gets the car rolling down the soggy London street. He thanks every god he can think of that his apartment is only two storeys up and five minutes away when he pulls up outside his building.

He manages Michael up the stairs, almost unconscious by this point, and lowers him gingerly onto his sofa. Michael blinks drearily at him and seems to gain a modicum of focus. He rolls his head on the back of the couch to watch Gerry fetch his first aid kit, discreetly brushing the dust off of it.

On closer inspection the cut isn’t as bad as Gerry thought. It’s long but thin, and likely wouldn’t even need stitches. He cleans it thoroughly and starts to fit a bandage over it. “Are you hungry? Do you want some tea? I have bread, I could make you some toast. I know that pizza place around the corner is open all hours. They deliver, do you like pizza?” Gerry has no idea how to treat someone who used to be an eldritch spiral being and is now a shivering young amnesiac, but he figures bandaging their wounds and feeding them is a good place to start.

Michael looks more awake as Gerry tends to his cut and assaults him with a litany of questions. “I don’t um… Sorry, I don’t know.” Gerry had never gotten a handle on the colour of Michael’s eyes. He can see now that they’re a cloudy grey as they try to concentrate on what Gerry’s doing.

“Actually, I think you should shower before I bandage this. You look pretty cold and you should probably warm up,” Gerry explains, just as he starts to unpackage a plaster. “You, uh, you know how to shower, right?”

Michael looks up at him, and Gerry flinches, expecting the meeting of their eyes to hurt. It doesn’t. Michael cracks a small smile and huffs a bit of a laugh; just another hint at how different he is now. “Yeah, I know how to shower.”

Gerry helps Michael to his bathroom and gets him to sit on the edge of the tub while Gerry searches around for any items of clothing that might fit Michael’s tall frame. He scrounges up some trackpants that Gerry always has to roll up and a loose band T. Michael gives him a small smile and Gerry backs out of the bathroom, allowing him some privacy, but he doesn’t leave.

Michael doesn’t take long; within a few minutes he’s emerging from the bathroom in a meagre cloud of steam and blushing slightly when he finds Gerry waiting. Gerry’s glad that he has some colour back in his cheeks. “Um, sorry, do you have any hair ties?”

Gerry hands him one and he ties his hair up in a loose bun, then stands there, looking at a bit of a loss. “Oh, right, let’s get that leg fixed up.” Gerry sits on his coffee table, Michael’s foot in his lap as he wraps his ankle gently in a bandage, watching his face carefully for any signs that Gerry is hurting him.

“Um, can I ask… Do you remember anything?” Gerry says softly.

Michael sighs, “I remember… you. Vaguely. Also, a bridge. I think that’s where I became…” he trails off, but Gerry doesn’t need the rest of the sentence to know what he means.

“Do you know how it happened?” Gerry says tentatively.

Michael winces, even though Gerry is no longer touching his leg. “I, no, uh,” he looks away, and Gerry can see a sheen of tears in his eyes, “I’m not sure, um…”

“Hey, it’s alright, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want.”

“I mean I can try, I will try, it’s just, it hurts? I don’t know… when I try to think about the time that I lost, my head just starts throbbing,” he explains, rubbing tiredly at his temples.

“Don’t sweat it, Michael. Here, I’ll make you something to eat, it’s probably been years since you last ate,” Gerry says, getting up and moving to the kitchen. Michael moves to get up too but Gerry waves him back down.

Gerry gets together a couple pieces of toast and a cup of tea for himself and Michael. He doesn’t know how Michael takes his tea, doesn’t know if Michael even knows himself, but figures he can’t go wrong with a drop of honey.

Michael accepts the tea and buttered toast gratefully and Gerry takes a seat beside him on the couch, sipping from his own mug and trying not to be too creepy, watching Michael practically swallow the toast whole. Gerry looks him over a little more, now that he’s clean and not drenched in rain and sweat. He’s like Michael was, just human. Gerry doesn’t think it should be a huge leap, but Michael had been so far from right that him looking like a normal, cute boy, is entirely alien to Gerry.

And Michael is _cute_. The sweatpants Gerry had lent him barely come to his ankles and his hair is starting to curl around his ears as it dries, light blonde. He’s got a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and he’s looking at Gerry. Fuck, Gerry had been staring. He looks away with a blush.

“Um. Do you know who you were, before?” Gerry asks, quickly diverting any attention from the fact he had been gawking at the endearing amnesiac eating toast on his couch.

Michael shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s alright. You can stay here, and we’ll figure something out.” Michael looks at him with a confused frown.

“Stay? I couldn’t possibly take up your space, I’ll be fine on my own, I… I think I’ve done that before; I don’t want to be a bother.” Michael starts to protest, using more words than he had all night. Gerry cuts him off.

“Michael, you don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you were. You have no belongings; in all likeliness you’ve probably been presumed dead for a while. I won’t let you live on the streets just because you were too polite to accept my help,” Gerry’s voice had risen a little as he spoke, and he brings it back down. The last thing he wants is Michael to be scared of him.

Michael looks at him with wide eyes, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he stutters quietly, “O-okay. Thank you, Gerry.”

Gerry gets him a blanket and a pillow, telling him to wake him if he needs anything. Gerry doesn’t believe he would but retreats to his bedroom anyway. He doesn’t sleep.

*

Gerry gets out of bed around 7 in the morning. He brushes his teeth and shuffles through the kitchen, boiling the kettle and moving into the living room. Michael is still asleep, legs curled tight toward himself and face pinched into a frown. Gerry sighs; he can’t decide if this is a more or less of an inconvenience than dating an actual monster, but this man is the only part left of something he cared deeply for, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get Michael back on his feet.

Gerry doesn’t want to wake Michael -who knows what he’s been through- so he goes back into the kitchen and sips quietly at his mug of tea until he hears him stir. He pushes another cup of tea into Michael’s hands and watches with a small smile as he takes it blearily, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

“How did you sleep?” Gerry sits beside him.

Michael nods, “Good, thanks.” He glances up at Gerry, brows tugging in, “Did you? You don’t look so great.”

“It’s fine,” Gerry says, “I don’t sleep a lot anyway.”

“Gerry if I’m keeping you from sleeping by staying here I can l-,” Michael starts.

“No, Michael, I’m not making you leave,” Gerry sighs. “I want to help you find out who you were.”

Michael looks him in the eye for a long moment, face a picture of concern and conflict, before he looks away and heaves a big sigh. “Okay.”

“What if we go to the library? They have records of people and shit there don’t they?” Gerry says.

“That sounds like a good place to start.”

“We’ll do that after breakfast, then.”

Michael frowns again. Gerry wishes he could stop saying shit that worried Michael. “Um, sh-should I leave… then? We can meet after? Or-?”

“Michael, no, I meant we’ll go get breakfast _together_ and then we’ll go to the library,” Gerry says, trying not to sound too exasperated.

“I don’t have any money!”

Gerry gets onto his knees on the couch and gently takes Michael’s face in his hands. Michael looks beyond surprised but doesn’t fight him off; just looks at him with big grey eyes. “Michael, listen to me. You don’t have anything at the moment, I know that. You literally don’t even have any clothes. I am going to take care of you until we get this shit sorted out. Please, just trust me, alright?” Gerry begs. He likes this new Michael, he does, but if he hears one more ridiculously self-sacrificing thing come out of this boy’s mouth, he might just scream.

Michael blinks, stunned. “I’ll pay you back when I get a job.”

Gerry sighs in relief. He figures this is as close as they’ll get to a non-protest. “If that’s what’ll make you happy. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so selfless, based on how you were before.”

“H-how was I? Before? _What_ was I?” Michael asks hesitantly, avoiding Gerry’s gaze.

“You were…” Gerry starts, unsure how to describe the thing that was Michael, “like a… It was kind of like if you took you… and distorted it. It dealt in changing reality, making things hard to comprehend. It warped things and made them into a sort of… unreality.”

Gerry feels a phantom buzzing against his skin, like when Michael would try to hold his hand or caress his face. It never felt quite right, but it felt like Michael, and Gerry can’t help but feel a little sad when he looks at Michael now, knowing he won’t ever feel that again; won’t ever hear that maddening laughter again. Gerry doesn’t know how much Michael knows about his relationship with his previous self, and he has no idea if Michael would even want that anymore. It would make sense, he thinks, if only a monster is capable of loving him.

Gerry’s getting a little ahead of himself. He doesn’t even know this guy. He hardly even really knew Michael. And now Michael doesn’t even know himself. His head is starting to hurt, but that’s nothing new. He looks at the man beside him and thinks, well, at the very least he is quite literally easier on the eyes now.

Michael looks a little sad, a little lost in thought as he asks, “Was I evil?”

“Maybe,” Gerry says truthfully, “But it was always good to me. And I think maybe, it was the you in it, that made it that way.”

Michael looks up in surprise, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. He smiles sheepishly and says with a small laugh, “Well I try my best.”

Gerry grins back, glad to see the fleeting happiness on his face.

*

Outside the library of London Michael puts a hand on Gerry’s shoulder, tentatively holding him back. Gerry turns to him and he’s biting his lip, looking worriedly at the front doors. “What’s up?”

“What if,” he swallows audibly, “What if I wasn’t good when I was human before?”

“I doubt you were, if everything you’ve done so far counts for anything, you seem like a good guy. And even if you weren’t, now’s your chance to build a new you. Don’t worry about it, Michael,” Gerry says gently, trying to smile encouragingly.

“Gerry, the first thing I did was steal a car,” Michael whispers, face twisting up further.

“Desperate times, though, am I right?” Gerry says. He keeps his hands deliberately by his sides. The urge to reach out and comfort him is nearly overwhelming but Gerry isn’t sure of the etiquette on physical reassurance when your monster boyfriend becomes human and barely recognises you. It’s rather unprecedented.

Michael shakes his head, still frowning, but straightens where he stands and walks on into the library. Gerry follows, relieved. Gerry watches Michael as he relaxes, wandering among the stacks of books. He looks a little out of place, wearing Gerry’s ill-fitting clothes, but Gerry thinks commenting on that would be rather hypocritical. Eventually they find themselves in front of a shelf of records and newspapers.

Michael slides a thin hard cover from the shelves that reads UCL 1980. He flips through it briefly before replacing it. He pulls out the next, UCL 1979. Gerry watches him for a moment before saying, “How did you know to come to this part of the library?”

“The shelving system feels kind of familiar to me,” Michael says, continuing to take books out and replace them. He sighs as he puts one back, crouching at the bottom shelf and rubbing his face tiredly, “What if this is a waste of time?”

Gerry chuckles a little, “Michael you have nothing but time. You have zero obligations or deadlines.”

Michael huffs a bit of a laugh and cracks a smile, “Yeah I guess that’s true.”

“So we know a few things, right? We know that you like libraries. You were probably in your 20’s when you disappeared. And your name is probably Michael. That should help.”

Michael smiles sardonically, “That’s a lot of maybes. And… there’s no guarantee that my name was Michael, especially since I’m…” he gestures vaguely toward himself.

Gerry frowns, “You’re what?”

Michael stands up and looks around briefly, before facing Gerry. He licks his lips and winces when he whispers, “I wasn’t always a man.”

Gerry kicks himself for not catching on quicker as he sees Michael’s eyes fill with dread before Gerry responds. “Oh! Yeah… that. Wait! Does that mean you remembered something?” He looks hopefully up at Michael.

Michael sighs, exasperated, “No, Gerry, I just saw my own body when I showered last night.”

“Oh, of course,” Gerry says, rubbing his forehead awkwardly, “God, I’m stupid.”

Michael laughs, a little too loudly for a library, and his face colours quickly as he slaps a hand over his mouth. Not before Gerry sees one of the most beautiful smiles in existence, though. It almost distracts him from how different Michael’s laugh is now, clear as a bell and not at all grating.

Michael pushes Gerry lightly in the shoulder. “You’re cute,” he says, still blushing. Gerry feels his own face heat up and tucks his hair out of his ears, hoping he’d heard properly.

Michael sits back down and continues searching through university yearbooks. Gerry joins him when Michael tugs lightly on his jeans, and he points at a grainy photo in UCL 1973. “I know this guy.”

Gerry takes the book from him and inspects the photo. It’s of a group accepting their degrees in Library Science. There’s only about 7 of them, and the person that Michael had pointed to is a handsome young black man, who is beaming proudly into the camera. The person beside him is taller, with long curly blonde hair tied up in a respectable bun. He’s younger, and thinner, but it’s Michael.

Gerry points to Michael in the photo, and Michael looks at it quizzically, no doubt trying to reconcile himself with the person in the photo. Together they read the caption on the photo. There is no Michael on the list, but he points to a name reading Matthew Condor.

“Is that you?” Gerry asks.

Michael shakes his head, “No. He was my friend, I think. He was always talking about something controversial, or taboo. I think maybe… he might know something about what happened to me.”

Gerry smiles, “Alright, we have a lead, that’s good. Um, do you see your name on this list?”

Michael runs his eyes over the list, and flinches when he gets to the last one, “I think I was Grace Shelley,” he points to the name.

Gerry watches Michael look sadly between himself on the page and the name. “I know that you’re having a bit of an identity crisis right now…” Gerry says.

Michael scoffs and smiles, “I’ll say.”

“And I want to help you with that, and I want you to be comfortable with me, so um, which name do you prefer? It’s up to you,” Gerry says quietly.

Michael locks eyes with Gerry and doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he smiles quietly and says, “I’m Michael.”

Gerry grins back, “Nice to meet you.”

Michael blushes and looks away, biting his lip to hide a smile. He sobers when he looks back down on the page, and a hand comes up to scratch at his collarbone. “Um, Gerry? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Michael, anything,” Gerry says.

“Was my body still like… like now? When I was a monster?” he asks quietly.

Gerry blushes, embarrassed to admit that he’d seen Michael’s body, sort of without his permission. He stutters, “Um, yeah, it was, like now, I mean when it was human-looking, assuming you have the, um…” he trails off and rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly.

Michael watches his response with calm grey eyes before nodding. “How... How did you like that? I was a monster, surely it wasn’t…?”

Gerry feels an unexpected rush of defensiveness and is caught off guard by the absurdity of the situation. He’s offended on behalf of his ex-boyfriend who was a monster and is now a human and is insulting his past self. “Just because it was a little strange doesn’t mean you were any less beautiful,” Gerry says, a little heat in his voice.

Michael pulls back a little bit, eyes wide and blushing, like he can’t figure out whether to feel attacked or flattered.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gerry sighs, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Michael starts slowly, “You lost someone, or… something. I can respect that. I didn’t realise that I must be a living reminder of… it.”

“No, Michael, that’s not it,” even though it sort of is, “I just don’t want you to think that you were ever, you know, not really sexy. You deserve that confidence.” 

Michael’s face flames redder than Gerry had seen so far, and he grins at him. Michael bashfully smiles back before turning away to put the book back on the shelf.

*

Michael needs his own clothes. His own clothes that will fit, and not hang off his arms while also not reaching his hips. He needs pants that will touch his ankles. Gerry takes him clothes shopping. Michael, of course, protests and gets himself caught between not wanting Gerry to buy him more stuff, and not wanting to borrow Gerry’s clothes anymore.

“I just, I don’t want to be a leech, you’ve done so much for me, already, I-,” Michael is saying as they wonder between racks of clothing.

“Michael you are the only remaining part of something that I cared- _care_ \- very much about, so I will buy you clothes whether you like it or not,” he says, stopping in front of a section of sweaters.

“O-okay, well,” he starts, then pulls himself up determinedly, “I’m going to pay you back at some point.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Gerry says nonchalantly, and pulls out a sunny yellow turtleneck. “If you and monster mike have anything in common, you fucking _love_ turtlenecks.” He passes it to Michael.

Michael looks at it for a moment and Gerry sees him smile, confirmation enough. Gerry snatches it back just as he starts to look at the price tag and continues on. They go on like that, Gerry shooting down any suggestion of Michael paying him back and piling more clothes into the trolley in retaliation. Gerry thanks whatever gods available that his mother had left her sizeable emergency fund to him before she bit the dust. Good riddance.

“Gerry can you afford all this?” Michael asks, wringing his hands.

“What are you trying to say?” Gerry says, faux-offended. “I think you’ll probably need this, too,” he says, snagging a floppy hat from a nearby display.

They get to the checkout with an alarming amount of clothes in the trolley, and the check-out assistant looks at them questioningly before starting to scan things. “What is that?” Michael says close to his ear.

“What’s what?” Gerry asks.

“The red light that flashes when she runs the tag over it,” Michael explains.

“The barcode scanner?” Gerry asks incredulously.

“What’s a barcode?” Michael asks.

“Oh my god,” Gerry mumbles, “We gotta get you assimilated with the modern culture. We’ll get you some recent movies to watch, I think.”

“We don’t have time to go to the cinema, Gerry.”

“… Do you know what a VHS is?” Gerry asks tentatively.

“No,” Michael says, frowning.

“ _Jesus_.”

“Would you like your receipt?” the lady says.

“No, thanks,” Gerry says.

The woman starts to take it back when Michael says, “Actually, I’ll take a copy, please,” reaching toward it.

Gerry snatches it from Michael, scrumbles it into a ball and puts it in his mouth, looking at Michael in triumph and challenge. Michael takes a moment to get over his shock when Gerry swallows the ball and crosses his arms. “You know I’ll just over compensate and give you more money than this stuff is worth.”

Gerry coughs and winces, pulling the trolley away from the checkout and it’s stricken attendant. He scrunches his face up and sticks his tongue out at Michael. Michael laughs, and this time he doesn’t hide his smile.

*

They knock on the door to a large house in one of the more expensive neighbourhoods in London. They check again to see that they’ve got the address right for Matthew Condor. The yellow pages they had found was a couple of years old, but it’s all they have to go off of. Both of them are surprised when a black woman opens the door. She’s probably nearing her 50’s but looks good for it. 

Gerry speaks first, “Hi, um, sorry to bother you, but…” he checks the slip of paper, “Does Matthew Condor live here?”

The woman doesn’t answer; she’s looking at Michael with mouth agape and a hand drifting up to cover it. Michael looks like he’s struggling to put two pieces of a puzzle together. Gerry clears his throat and starts to speak, but Michael tugs lightly on his shirt sleeve to stop him. 

“Michael?” the woman breathes.

Michael nods. “You… Sorry, I don’t think I have the right name for you?”

“Lydia. It’s Lydia, please come in,” she steps aside and ushers them both into a ridiculously nice living room. Gerry sits on the couch beside Michael and silently envies how comfortable it is.

Once she seats herself in a leather armchair and takes a moment to look Michael over, now wearing a sweater and jeans that actually fits him, she speaks, “Michael I haven’t seen you since 1974. What the _fuck_ happened?”

Only then does it click that this is the same person that they saw beside Michael in the photo. Gerry finds himself so relieved that Michael had someone like him when he was in college.

“That’s the thing… I can’t actually remember. Then, until just a few days ago, and even before that is just… blank. We found a yearbook. There was a picture of me and you, and I thought you might know something,” he says, picking at his nails in his lap.

“Well…” she starts, “I can’t exactly help you with the in-between, but I can help you with the before.” She gets up and leaves the room, telling them she’ll be right back. She comes back with a box and sets it down on the glass coffee table. “Michael, before I show you all this stuff, you have to know one thing.”

Michael nods quickly, leaning forward.

“All this,” she indicates the box, “This is just paper, Michael. The only thing you really need to know is that you were strong, you were _brave_ , and you were _loved_. You doubted that. You had so much doubt, and that hurt you. I don’t know why God gave you this second chance, but I want you to take it and keep this one thing in mind: you are _worth it_ ,” she says all this looking intently into Michael’s eyes. She takes his hand, and speaks into him, rather than to him.

Michael looks stricken and searches her eyes for any deception. He finds none. “Thank you.”

She smiles and pats his cheek, “God, but I’ve missed you, you sweet boy.” She pulls the box toward her and pulls out the first thing her hand touches. A piece of card paper, gilded wreath around the edges. It’s a degree in Library Science written out to Grace Shelley.

“I never… I never changed my name?” Michael asks.

Lydia bites her lip and shakes her head, “No, you tried. They didn’t take it. But when you were declared dead, I took it upon myself to fix that shit.” She pulls out another slip of paper, smaller and less grandiose. It’s a certificate stating that due to extenuating circumstances, Lydia Condor had Grace Shelley’s name changed, posthumously, to Michael Shelley.

Michael takes it and smiles. “I am Michael,” he says, and hands it to Gerry.

Lydia continues to lay out Michael’s minimal documents. His birth certificate says that he was born in 1949. He graduated Secondary School in 1967. A small article in The Times newspaper from 1974 details the disappearance of 25-year-old Grace Shelley. ‘Friends say she was last seen at a nearby beach, with several other young men and women.’

“Lydia, why… why is it you that has all this?” Gerry asks quietly. Why didn’t Michael’s parents have them?

Lydia looks down at the box, now empty, and doesn’t speak for a moment, “Michael, your parents didn’t want to keep your things around. You must not remember… they didn’t like having a trans boy for a daughter.”

Michael nods solemnly, “Yeah, I… I got that impression.”

“I’m sorry…” Lydia says to Gerry, “I must not have asked your name?”

“Gerry,” he says.

“Gerry, could you… give us a moment? If you’d like any refreshments or anything at all, the kitchen is right down the hall to the left,” she smiles kindly at him and he nods hesitantly. It’s not that he doesn’t trust this woman, it’s more that Gerry is selfishly curious about what Michael’s life might have looked like before all this. “I could make us tea? Lydia how do you take it?”

She smiles gratefully, “Black coffee, actually.”

Gerry goes about making tea and coffee. He takes about five minutes longer than necessary, unsure how much time they need. He shuffles hesitantly back into the room, but stops behind a wall for a moment, trying to hear if the conversation is too sensitive. Their voices aren’t lowered, so he figures it’s alright, but something stops him again. He hears his name. He berates himself mentally for being so nosey even as he turns his hearing aid up.

“That boy’s cute, Michael, well done,” she says cheekily.

Michael chuckles, and Gerry can practically hear him blushing, “Oh, ah, yes, but we aren’t. I mean, I think we used to be, but I was… different? I’m not sure, I’ll get him to explain that part.”

Lydia hums, “But you like him, don’t you?”

A nervous giggle bursts out of Michael, “I mean, yes, I do. But he’s basically the only person I know right now, besides you. That’s not proper, is it?”

Gerry blinks in surprise, and bites down on a smile.

Lydia scoffs, “When have you or I ever cared about _proper_?”

“That’s a fair point, I suppose,” Michael says.

Gerry chooses that moment to shuffle in with the tray of drinks and sets it on the table. Lydia thanks him, and asks, as he takes his seat beside Michael, “Gerry. You know a bit more about Michael than him or I do, can you elaborate?”

Gerry looks between the two of them and takes a deep breath. “When I first met Michael, about a year ago. He was, or _it_ was different. It could open doors into different spaces. The human form it presented was… delicate and… wrong. If it got a bit too emotional it would, bend out of shape and kind of like, distort, like you were looking at it through water. It still looked like Michael, but also it really, really didn’t. I’m not sure what it did when I wasn’t around, but I think it made other people go insane, to sustain itself. I never saw it, but that’s how I felt when I was around it. Like losing it was just around the corner. Sometimes I still feel a bit that way.” Gerry grows red and stumbling under Lydia’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Sounds like the Spiral,” Lydia says, leaning back in her chair.

Michael looks at her confused, and Gerry must not look too different because she laughs good-naturedly and asks, “Have you ever heard of the Magnus Institute?”

Michael shakes his head and Gerry nods. “Yeah, I actually gave my statement to them not long after I met Michael. Do you, um, work there?”

Lydia shakes her head, “No, but a have a nephew who does. It’s been especially useful since my career pivoted into paranormal journalism,” she winks.

“Sorry,” Michael interrupts, “What’s a Spiral?”

“That’s a little too specific to start with…” Lydia says, and proceeds to tell them about Smirke’s 14, rituals, avatars, and her own run ins with each. Then follows a long, loaded silence.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Michael says, taking the words right out of Gerry’s mouth, “I was one of those?”

“I’m afraid so, honey,” she says, sipping at her coffee. “Be glad you got out alive.”

Michael shares an indiscernible look with Gerry, emotions wild in his eyes.

Lydia purses her lips and watches them both for a moment with a look half way between sadness and pride. “I’ll say one last thing before you go, boys. Don’t live in fear. It may be the easiest path to take, and if it keeps you alive, do so. But take it from me; that’s no life you’d be living.”

“Thanks, Lydia,” Michael says softly, standing up. Lydia gets up too and pulls him into a tight hug. She steps back and presses the box of papers into his hands. “Take this. I don’t know how useful any of it will be since you’ve been legally presumed dead, but…” she shrugs.

She stands to the side as they leave, patting Michael on the cheek one last time. As Gerry passes her, she takes him by the elbow to keep him back a little as Michael walks out, “Keep in touch, won’t you? And Gerry?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of that boy,” she says sternly, “he deserves that at least.”

Gerry tries his best to smile in this awkward situation, “I know.”

*

“How’d it go?” Gerry asks as Michael emerges from the library.

Michael heaves out a big breath and looks at Gerry with raised eyebrows, “Ok, I think. I don’t know, though… I’m not that qualified. And they were really sceptical when I told them I was 46.”

“I mean, I would be too, you don’t even look 25. That’s how old you were, right?” Gerry says, walking with Michael to the subway station.

“Yeah. Wait, how old are you?” Michael says. “It’s weird that I don’t know that.”

“26. Who interviewed you? Was it that Amanda that Lydia knows or…?”

Michael nods, “Yeah, she was even more confused when I explained that I was the one that Lydia went to UCL with,” he chuckles, then his face straightens out, “Gerry, I’ve been meaning to ask. Am I keeping you from your life?”

“No,” Gerry sighs. “I’m going to have to go back to work soon, though. I can’t rely on my legendary budgeting skills for much longer,” Gerry jokes, nudging Michael in the side.

Michael giggles, but it doesn’t last long, “I really am sorry, you know? I wouldn’t have wished this on you if I had any choice. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I have a job, I promise.”

“What if… What if I don’t want you out of my hair?” Gerry says quietly.

Michael looks up, surprised, and a blush would’ve risen to his cheeks if they weren’t already red from the cold of London. “I… well, I don’t know. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… my apartment would be pretty lonely without you,” he damn near whispers as they wait for their train.

Michael hides a smile in his scarf, “Gerry, that’s sweet, but I don’t want to live on your couch forever.”

Gerry shakes his head, fighting off his own blush, “Let’s leave that ‘til you have a job, huh?”

Michael nods, “Hey, ah… is working at that radio station what you really want to do?”

Gerry winces. He knew this line of conversation was bound to come up eventually. “No, uh… I actually wanted to be a guitarist. Or, a songwriter, actually. I was saving to go to school for a while and I actually applied but they turned me away because of my hearing problems.”

“That’s shitty,” Michael muses, watching Gerry with a gentle concern. “May I ask… how did that happen?”

“I got an ear infection when I was three that went untreated. Thanks, mum,” he mumbles, glaring at the floor.

“You know, Gerry,” Michael says, bumping him slightly where he sits beside him, “If I can come back from the dead, I’m pretty sure you can write some songs.”

Gerry laughs, and grins at Michael. Michael smiles back, proud at having chased away Gerry’s frown. “Okay, sure. Plenty of people never went to school for music, I’ll pave my own damn way.”

Michael bites down a smile, looking at Gerry with eyes bright and hair curling around his red ears. He looks beautiful, and Gerry is suddenly struck by it. “Gerry, you’ve done so much for me. The least I could do is believe in your dreams.”

Gerry snorts, and shuffles just a bit closer to Michael. “Dreams,” he scoffs.

*

It’s 2 am and Gerry is awake. He doesn’t know why he just woke up, but he’s damn annoyed about it, because he just got back from work and he wants to not be awake any more, for fuck’s sake. He gets up to get a glass of water, thirst clawing thick and heavy at his throat. He shuffles into the kitchen and is just about to run the tap when he hears something. He turns his hearing aid up and… yes, that’s definitely Michael crying. 

Gerry puts the glass down and moves into the living room. Michael is sitting on the edge of the couch, head in hands, and his shoulders are heaving rapidly. The broken sobs coming from him are almost more than Gerry can bear. He goes to him quickly, putting a gentle hand on his back and Michael startles away from him.

“Hey, it’s just me, babe. What’s wrong? Sorry, I shouldn’t call you that,” Gerry says, wincing at his choice of words.

“Nothing! I’m fine,” Michael says, wiping hurriedly at his face, new tears flowing down to replace those immediately.

“You aren’t fine, Michael,” Gerry says, “Can you please tell me what’s going on?” Gerry tries to move toward him, intending to pull Michael into a hug. Michael plants both hands on Gerry’s chest and shoves him away.

“Stop! Stop _caring_ about me! I’m wrong! I was wrong then, I was wrong before, and I’m wrong now! I’m a burden, and you shouldn’t want me!” Michael is clutching hard at his own arms, nails digging in. His hair is loose and wild, and Gerry can hardly see his face.

Gerry’s blood runs cold to hear Michael talk like that. He had been doing so well for the past few weeks. “Michael,” he says, as gentle as he can. “Will you listen for a second?” He makes no move to touch Michael again, even though he can see the red circles in his skin where his nails are burying themselves. “You aren’t wrong. You’re kind and strong and beautiful and nothing is ever going to change that. Yeah, you used to be a monster, but guess what? I liked you anyway, and I like you now.”

Michael drops his face back into his hands and cries, “I’m so sorry I pushed you, Gerry!”

“Hey, that’s alright, I’m strong, I can take it. Can I hug you?” Gerry says, tentatively moving toward him again.

Michael let’s out a sob and all at once gathers Gerry into a hug, holding him tight and crying into his shoulder. Gerry returns it, holding him close and rubbing circles into his back. “What happened, Michael? You were fine when I left for work.”

There’s a moment of silence before Michael says, hardly above a whisper, “Lydia found my parents.”

Gerry’s heart sinks. This can’t be good. “And?”

“My mum’s dead and my dad wants nothing to do with me,” Michael wails, clutching harder at Gerry’s shirt.

“God, Michael, I’m so sorry,” Gerry says, gently leading Michael to sit on the sofa.

Michael weeps against his shoulder for a while, Gerry just letting him, until he falls quiet, and for a moment, there’s no sound but for the steady rain outside.

Michael takes a shuddering breath in, “Sometimes, I remember things. From when I was… it.”

Gerry’s face contorts in surprise. Michael had never spoken about this before. “What do you remember?”

“It’s hard to tell what’s happening in the things that I s-see. All I know is th-that every second of it… is pure agony. All of it hurts so much to remember, I wish I never had. The only parts that d-don’t make me want t-to scream. Is y-you, Gerry. You were the only moments when that mind, so wr-wrong and loud, was right, and still.”

“Michael,” Gerry breathes, hugging him impossibly closer. What does he say to that? What _can_ he say that isn’t completely redundant? “Is there anything I can do?”

Michael pulls back from him, but not away, until he’s looking Gerry in the eyes, skin blotchy and red. Gerry can feel Michael’s hands, drifting away from where they were clenched in the back of his shirt and coming up to rest either side of Gerry’s face. Gerry sees Michael’s gaze flicker down, and back up, then down again, and now Michael is getting closer.

Gerry doesn’t realise what’s happening until Michael’s lips are against his. They’re soft and chapped, and it doesn’t feel like Gerry’s mind is being pressed through a grater and moulded and reshaped. He leans into the sweet slide of Michael’s mouth for a moment, and instinctually goes to pull him closer, but stops, pushing Michael gently away by the shoulders.

Michael looks a bit surprised, and increasingly embarrassed, “Oh, sorry, did I misread? I thou-.”

“No, I mean, I just don’t want you to do anything because you feel obligated too. You know that me and what you were… had something. And I think we have something, too, but I don’t want you to feel trapped into being with me because of how the thing you used to be, felt for me,” Gerry explains sloppily, tucking a stray lock of hair out of Michael’s face.

Michael looks contemplative, and shakes his head, “No. That’s not what this is. Gerry, I… I may not remember everything, but I know no one’s ever treated me so well as you. And I think, in another world, where we both are living the lives we deserve, I think I would still feel the same. Because you’re a good person, Gerry, and I like you.” His tone is resolute.

“Well alright, then,” Gerry says, and proceeds to let Michael kiss him breathless. Gerry allows himself to get lost in Michael’s beautifully human touch, pointedly ignoring the four ragged lines in the back of his couch. The ones’ Michael had put there the first time it’d let Gerry touch it. Gerry revels in the feel of Michael’s skin, soft and warm, and how it doesn’t make him buzz with some kind of electricity. He almost misses it, but the small sounds that Michael makes against his mouth as he runs his hands over him are enough to make him feel alive in a different type of way.

At some point they move it to the bedroom, and when they’ve taken each other apart with mouths and hands and whispered words, Gerry lies sated on Michael’s chest, running a fingertip across his scars and feeling him shiver, warm and alive beneath him. Michael tilts Gerry’s head up with a few fingers under his jaw, and kisses him delicately, humming when Gerry runs a hand through his hair.

Gerry kisses Michael tenderly on the cheek, then nuzzles his face into his neck and pulls a few heavy blankets on top of them both, letting his eyes fall shut to the pulsing rhythm of Michael breathing.

*

Gerry wakes up to an unbearable amount of light streaming in through his open blinds. He’s sticky with sweat beneath the sheets, and his bones ache at the idea of moving. Michael is still here, which Gerry is glad about. He’d had the thought that Michael might try to exile himself to the couch again if Gerry shifted away from him during the night. Gerry groans and rolls over, burying his face in his pillows.

“Is it going to be awkward now?” Michael asks, sitting with his arms crossed on his knees, gloriously shirtless.

Gerry cracks an eye open to look at him. His hair is brilliant gold in the sun, tumbling down across his shoulders. Gerry grumbles over to him and lays across his back, fitting his chin over his shoulder. “Only if we make it awkward,” Gerry says, “Is this okay?”

Michael smiles, blushing, and presses a hesitant kiss to Gerry’s temple. Gerry doesn’t know how he can be bashful after last night, but Gerry has learnt that that’s just Michael now. He isn’t complaining; he loves to watch Michael blush and squirm.

“We should do something nice today,” Gerry says, “Since you got some bad news yesterday, and the weather is supposed to be good. You don’t have any interviews.”

Michael hums, and Gerry delights in the feel of it against his chest. “Beach. I haven’t been to a beach since I mysteriously disappeared.”

Gerry snorts a laugh, and drops a kiss on Michael’s shoulder, “Beach it is.”

The seaside is nice. It’s starting to warm up, especially in the south, and there aren’t that many people on the shore. The sun is high in the sky by the time they get there and lay out some towels to sit on, and the wind is low. Michael lays himself out on his front and opens a book he’d been working his way through. Gerry lays facing the sun and puts his headphones on, pressing play on his favourite mixtape.

After an hour of uninterrupted sun, Michael taps Gerry’s leg and tells him he’s going to sit in the water. Gerry nods and levers himself up to his elbows, watching Michael wade into the water and sit down, waist deep. Mostly he just stays still, staring out across the ocean, occasionally picking up something out of the water, looking at it for a moment, before tossing it into the sea. Gerry sees him pull up a bit of seaweed and toss it away in alarm. He can hear his yelp of surprise through his headphones.

Michael comes back, and motions to Gerry. He turns his Walkman off and Michael says, “We should go sit on the rocks, they look warm.”

Gerry follows him to a flat stretch of rock, heated by the sun and coated with a fine mist of seawater. Michael sits facing perpendicular to the beach, and when Gerry sits beside him, he takes Michael’s hand. Gerry looks over in surprise when Michael starts to pull his hand away.

“Is it okay to do this now? Lydia said things were getting better, but…” Michael looks at him hopefully.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s better than it was,” Gerry says, squeezing Michael’s hand, “but if there were more people here, I would probably not risk it.”

“Well, back in my day,” Michael starts, pitching his voice raspier to sound old, grinning at Gerry’s laugh, “We couldn’t do this shit at all, so I’m going to take advantage of this.”

“Oh, who’s ‘we’ Michael? Have a special someone waiting for you back in the ‘70’s?” Gerry teases.

“No,” Michael says, smiling softly at Gerry and squeezing his hand.

Gerry gets lost in his smile, and for a moment he doesn’t realise the dawning look of confusion in Michael’s eyes. “Michael?”

Michael’s frown deepens and his grip on Gerry’s hand loosens. “I just remembered something.”

Gerry’s blood goes cold. Nothing like a traumatic memory to ruin a nice beach day. “What is it?”

Michael’s face contorts in a look of heartbreak so strong that tears spring to Gerry’s eyes. Michael gasps and shakes his head, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Fuck, okay. We’re leaving, then, come on,” Gerry says, pulling Michael to his feet and leading him back across the rocks. Gerry collects all their things in one armful and takes Michael’s hand with the other, not caring who sees. Michael trembles the whole way home and Gerry doesn’t let go of him once. When they get to his apartment door, he drops all their shit in favour of Michael’s hand to unlock the door and kicks the pile in in front of him before ushering Michael to the couch.

“Okay, beautiful, what do you want?” Gerry says, gently, stroking Michael’s cheek. “We can talk about it, or we can watch telly and forget, your choice.”

“I was going to jump,” Michael whispers.

Gerry shifts closer to hear him better and laces their fingers together. “Jump what, Michael?”

“I was on the beach,” his eyes are glassy and unfocused. There are tears clinging to his lashes, but they don’t fall. “Bunch of friends, and a guy I liked. He was always so nice to me, always acted like he was okay with who I was. Lydia was there, she must have thought he was good, too. I liked him so much, I made myself sick with it. I asked him, on the beach. We were all a little drunk. I asked him on a date, and he…” Michael blinks and comes back to himself a little, gasping as he continues, “He laughed. Said ‘you’re crazy’ and ‘I can’t date a queer like you’.”

Gerry puts an arm around Michael and rubs his shoulder, aiming for reassuring but probably falling miles short.

“I left the beach. It was dark. It was cold and I only had my swim trunks and an old T-shirt. The bridge we passed over… you saw it?”

“Yeah?”

“I was going to jump.”

“Fuck, Michael,” Gerry says, throat closing up at the thought. He squeezes Michael just that little bit closer.

“I stepped onto the bridge. I was just a crazy queer, no one would miss me. I was searching for the edge. I couldn’t find it, it was just endless, grey concrete, stretching on. I walked and walked for weeks maybe, and finally; I became…” He shudders and collapses against Gerry.

Gerry takes a moment to gather himself, devastated at how life treated Michael before, aching to give him something better. Michael is gasping great lungfuls of air against him, hands twisting into Gerry’s shirt. Gerry pushes him back gently, and takes his face in his hands, skin cold and clammy with tears, just like the first day they met. “I- d-don’t want t-to be… d-don’t want t-to l-live i-i-in f-fear.”

“Michael, breathe, it’s alright, that’s the past, look at me,” Gerry breathes in and out slowly, and notices after a moment Michael desperately trying to copy him. “It’s alright, just breathe. Slowly.” Eventually Michael is breathing evenly. Shaky, but even, and Gerry’s runs his thumb over Michael’s cheekbone.

“I’m sorry, Gerry,” Michael mumbles, shutting his eyes tight.

“No, Michael, it’s fine. The way I see it,” Gerry says, and waits for Michael to open his eyes before continuing. “You have been afraid. You have been fear. You’ve done that. I think maybe now’s the time to try being fearless.”

Michael frowns and looks at him for clarification. “You can be brave, now. You’ve seen everything life can throw at you. You were scared, before you became the Spiral. You literally were an embodiment of fear for two decades. Now you can put both of those aside. Don’t let this second chance slide. You’re strong. You can decide.”

Michael brings a shuddering breath in, and releases it slowly, “I can decide.”

“Yeah, there we go,” Gerry says, smiling encouragingly. He looks at the clock and sighs, “I have to go in to the station soon. If you need me, I’m sure I can get someone to take my shift a-.”

“No,” Michael says, taking Gerry’s hands away from his face and holding them loosely in his lap, “I’ll be fine. You go.”

“Okay, well,” Gerry leans up and presses a kiss to Michael’s forehead, “I care about you, Michael. Just know that, and stay safe, ‘til I get back.”

Michael nods, then catches Gerry’s wrist as he moves to get up, “But wait. It’s only 9 o’clock.”

Gerry smiles and winks, “I’m working on something.”

“Oh. Okay,” Michael says, looking at him quizzically.

*

Gerry is tapping a pen idly against his lip ring as he ponders what should go next. He sighs; pursuing his dream of songwriting seemed a lot more gratifying in theory. Gerry stops that thought in its tracks. His first song is bound to be shit anyway, he’s just gotta push on.

He’s interrupted by the door banging open. He barely has time to look up and see what’s happening before Michael spins his seat around and kisses him soundly on the mouth. Overcome by the initial surprise, it takes him a moment to kiss back but when he does, he melts into it, sinking into the feeling of Michael’s hands warm against his neck.

Gerry pulls back after a moment, curiosity getting the better of him, “Michael, I’ve only been gone for an hour, did you miss me that much?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“You haven’t started yet, right? I didn’t ruin your show?” Michael asks breathlessly.

“No, I, uh, was just working on something,” Gerry says, flipping his journal face down. “What are you doing here? If you needed me back, you could have called.”

Michael shakes his head, “I decided. I’m going to be brave. I like you, and I like us, and I wanted you to know that, so I came over.”

A glow of warmth bubbles up from Gerry’s chest and he grabs Michael’s face and peppers small kisses all over it. “Michael, I’m so proud of you.”

“Also Kensington Central called and I got the assistant position,” Michael says, biting down on a prideful grin.

“Michael! See what happens when you put that fear aside?” Gerry kisses him once on the mouth, “But you know it’s probably best you start from assistant because you only learnt what a VHS was two months ago.”

Michael giggles against him. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“Now that I have a job, I can start paying you back for all the shit you bought me.”

Gerry groans and hides a smile in Michael’s shoulder.

*

**Author's Note:**

> get me to stop making every one-shot into a series challenge
> 
> (let me know what y'all think with comments and kudos <3)


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